Chasing Haqqani
by Murmures
Summary: Some years before the show-down in the embassy, Peter Quinn served in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation. This is the story about how a little girl called Fara Sherazi and her big brother from a far-away place met, and how this changed events at the embassy many years later.
1. Chapter 1

**Prompt: Fara and Peter Quinn go way back.**

 _ **October 2003, Operation Iraqi Freedom, Kirkuk.**_

No matter how many times he deployed to the desert: Iraq, Afghanistan… wherever, he would never get used to the heat. Even in the early morning, the sun beat down on them. The hustle of the markets was already underway, happening below him as he looked out on the world from his tower on the FOB. Watching, waiting, thinking about the mission.

They'd had some intelligence that there were important members of the Bathist regime here. Maybe even the big man himself, codename "short-stop", imaginatively put together in reference to the execution he would surely face when found.

Suddenly, his eyes fixed on a small figure in the crowd, coming towards the FOB. She was tiny, maybe 7 or 8, and unusually for that age, wearing the chador. That was the first thing that struck him as odd. Usually it would be only teenagers or adults wearing it, not children. Not unless she had something to hide. He pulled out his telescope. With it, he could make out silent tears rolling down her face, and her hand shaking. Shit.

She was coming straight at the base.

She kept walking.

Shit.

" _Place your hands where I can see them,"_ a voice rang out. She didn't move, she was shaking.

The adahn rang out. The sun beat down.

Weapons were pointed at this little girl now, he had to stop this.

He bolted of his seat and ran down, all he could hear was the noise of the market.

" _Place your hands where I can see them,"_

He pushed past Rob, from the group, knocking his bowl of cocopops from his hand.

"What the fuck man?" Rob said, grabbing his arm in an iron grip.

"Suicide bomber, little girl, front gate, now,"

Rob dropped the bowl, picked up his weapon and followed Peter.

" _Place your hands where I can see them or so help me I will shoot,"_ The marine was screaming at the girl who had stopped dead just by the gates.

She moved her hands. The chador fell away just as Peter and Rob got there. The device was instantly visible.

The poor girl was buried in explosives, trigger gaffa-taped to her hand.

" _Shit," thought Peter._

There was suddenly screaming, and noise. Shouts for 200m cordon.

The girl was shaking, trembling. Whispering, muttering. Terrified.

Then he realised, with a start. She was whispering in Farsi.

Then he listened. He really listened. It was one of the perks of being trained as he had been, he was really good at zoning out and listening to a single conversation, even far away.

"He made me come here because Papa is here, he said Papa needed to pay. Please don't let Papa die, please. I don't want Papa to die"

He saw a patch of liquid pool under her. The poor girl had urinated herself, she was shaking. She was swaying, her face pale with fear. It was so nosy, the screams of the crowd being jostled away by the Marines, the screams of Marines at her not to move. None of it she could understand. She was speaking Farsi. But why. Why was she here?

Then he clicked. Shit.

Their translator, Sherazi was Iranian. His wife had been Kurdish, killed by the regime. Sherazi had been helping beforehand as part of the joint CIA-Peshmerga operation, in memory of his wife, and now he was assisting up here. He had said his daughter was safe, in boarding school. His clever daughter Fara; the girl that always did what she was told, and loved Maths and was getting the best grades in her class. But he'd bet that wasn't true, he'd bet his daughter was the little girl here. In an instant he made a decision.

He stepped forward.

"What the fuck are you playing at," the Marine in charge of the FOB screamed at him.

He stepped forward again. Hand reaching for his pocket knife. If he was going to do this, it better be good, and it better be fast, and it better be old school. No way would any bomb disposal expert get here in time. He'd made enough bombs in his short special service career. He'd probably be able to dismantle it. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.

In Farsi he started speaking to her.

" _Don't worry, your Papa won't be here. He's likely taking some time to pray at the back of base, we'll make sure you can see him real soon sweetheart ok. We're going to get you out of here. I'm going to get you out of here ok."_

The Marine was still screaming at them.

Peter turned around.

"Shut the fuck will you."

He heard Rob shout up,

"Phone signals down Quinn, cordon in place. Get it off her if you can, but please mate. I don't wanna have to watch you get red misted."

Peter crouched down to look at her. He carried on speaking to her in Farsi.

" _You're Fara, aren't you. Fara Sherazi?"_

She looked at him, wide eyed.

" _How do you know my name?"_

" _Your Papa is really proud of you, and he loves you, and he talks about you all the time. He said you could always do what you're asked. That you're a good girl who always listens to him. He's a good friend of mine, and he'd want you to listen to me now. It's really important that you stay really still. Can you do that for me sweetheart, can you stay still?"_

She nods.

" _Good girl. Now I'm going to walk around you to have a look at this jacket of yours and work out how we can get it off you ok. Don't move an inch, ok"_

 _Sniffles. No noise._

He walked around her slowly, eyes intent, calculating risks, odds. It was risky with his knife, he'd rather have scissors, shears, anything with a bit more control. But he'd have to make do. He was here to kill terrorists. He was here to kill or capture a man who had committed Genocide. What he wasn't here to do, was to let a little girl die, much less the kid-daughter of a man who had become a close friend out here.

It was complicated, this vest. A thumb trigger, a second, back up device. Wires everywhere, over the shoulders and around the waist so he couldn't just cut it off her. Well he could, but that was a last resort.

It didn't help she was still shaking.

" _Am I going to die?"_ A small voice asked.

" _Not if I can help it."_ He responded.

She was silent for a second as he started making careful incisions here and there.

" _Which was is Mecca?"_ She asked again.

" _I don't know little one,"_ He murmured back.

" _Can you ask… they said at school people should face Mecca and do Shahadah when they're going to die."_

" _You're not going to die little one,"_

But her small voice had already started muttering it.

" _Ashhadu Alla Ilaha Illa Allah, Wa Ashhadu Anna Muhammad Rasulu Allah,"_ over and over again she muttered it.

The sun beat down.

The silence was deafening.

He could hear the blood pounding in his head. Dry mouth.

He went to move, but his foot slipped an inch on the wet ground.

He felt his knife slice through a wire like butter.

He heard the timer engage with a click.

Fast as lightening, the plan B.

Three cuts, 2 cutting the vest from her waist, 1 cutting the trigger from the vest. Pulled it over her head. Threw it as far as he could muster, away from the base, into the space clear of the crowd, screaming "FIRE IN THE HOLE" at the top of his voice as he pushed the girl to the ground, shielding her as best he could with her body.

He was thrown backwards by the blast, keeping his fingers wrapped tight on the girl. The world was silent for a second. Bright lights danced before his eyes. He saw Robs face dancing in front of him, but couldn't hear what he was saying.

The world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

It was some time before he woke up, and when he did, it was with start. He tried to sit up immediately. Eyes open, looking for the little girl who'd been in his arms when he'd passed out. He clocked that it was dark outside.

A strong hand pushed him back into the bed.

Wait. He was on a bed.

"She's fine, you crazy son of a bitch. You're less fine. We're in hospital at Camp Victory. Me, you, the girl and her Dad. We were medevacked here right after it happened with your head injury."

Quinn squinted. Eyes trying to focus. Rob swam into view, still a bit blurry.

"Faras' ok?"

"She's fine you absolute arsehole. I thought you were both dead."

"Couldn't let her die," Peter responded tersely. His face was green, and he looked a bit ill.

"You ok?"

"Ima going to be sick."

Rob shoved a cardboard bucket into his hand and ran to get the nurse.

Peter heaved.

The doctor came in. A torch was in Peters' face.

"Mr Quinn, I'm Dr James. I've been treating you. I need to assess your head injury, is that ok?"

He shut his eyes, screwing them tight, trying to look away.

"Mr Quinn, I know it hurts, but you need to look at the torch. Can you tell me where you are?"

"Baghdad, Camp Victory. The kids' bomb went off. It was October when the bomb went off, I don't know the date. How long was I out?"

The doctor was periodically blocking and releasing his hand from the light, checking pupil response.

"Four days you were out Bro. You gotta stop doing this to me." Rob said softly.

"Is Fara ok? Is her dad ok?"

"She's fine. She and her Dad are here, we didn't think the North was safe for them anymore."

"You have a mild concussion Peter, you'll need to stay until you stop vomiting." The doctor said, then wrote the notes and left.

Rob carried on.

"She was pretty banged up by whoever took her. We think she was sexually assaulted as well, but we don't know, she came round pretty quickly after the bomb went off and refused to let anyone touch her or to go to sleep. Sherazi is devastated."

Peter's hands gripped the sheets tightly. Angrily. He went to move to get up.

"No. No way bro. You're staying here. She's been sedated, Sherazi is with her. You can speak to her when you are well and she wakes up. You're here for 24 hours at least. Then we'll see if we can get any info from her about who took her and why, pass it to Iraqi police and get on with our fucking job."

"She's a little girl."

"No revenge missions. Mission objective is short-stop. We were close up North, I could tell. Let Iraqi police handle the girl."

"Not just any girl. She's our friend's daughter. She's only in this because of Sherazi."

"It was his choice to get involved."

"We should have protected his family." Peter responded angrily, eyes blazing.

"We had no way of knowing his kid was in danger."

"Is that how you sleep at night?" Peter asked softly.

Rob looked away. It was times like this that he couldn't bear working with the young man Dar had placed him with. Rob was supposed to be his mentor, he was supposed to be guiding this man through the dark world of CIA Black Ops. Yet, Peter always questioned everything. Made him think of moral dilemmas that he'd never even considered before. For Rob it had always been about the mission.

But Pete, he was ever the analyst, as well as the assassin. Rob wondered where Peter had been conjured from sometimes. How Dar had found the 16 year old kid who had stumbled into the groups' Washington base behind him, all those years ago. Cold, wet, scrawny and miserable. What had Dar seen in him.

Peter had been the sharpest kid he'd ever met, he later found out, he hadn't been in school for 6 years. Many times, Rob marvelled at the ingenuity and strength of this young man. Often, it occured to him how close he had been to quitting the group that week, the week he had found out he was to train a kid to become a murderer. Until that 16 year old boy had turned around and told him to _quit being a pussy,_ and that he _didn't care if he died, or got raped or whatever, so long as it stops other little kids being hurt in the long run_.

From then on, wherever they had been in the world, there were a few people who Peter had shown no mercy for, and those who used sexual violence as a weapon of war were amongst those people. Just five years into his special-ops military career, Peters' personal kill list was growing exponentially, and Peter's habit of playing executioner to these criminals was a big reason for that. It was often off-script, but between Rob and Peter they were good enough at their work to cover up these non-mission critical excursions. But Rob could never bring himself to say anything. No human created justice would balance out the harm these Predators had caused to society. Somehow, to truly function, maybe society needed an angel of vengeance. If it did, it could come in no better form than Peter Quinn, he mused.

He looked back at him.

"Speak to her in the morning. Its 3am. Get some sleep. Then we're back on the mission."

Rob got up and left, leaving Peter Quinn staring at the ceiling, his mind boring a hole through it until he fell asleep.

 _The Adahn Rang out._

Peter awoke with a start, immediately reaching for his handgun which could not be found, panicking, and then relaxed. He was back in Baghdad, in hospital but a safe location. Just a normal day in the Desert.

It was already oppressive, the heat.

The hustle and bustle of the military hospital could already be heard. Nurses and orderlies came in offering him breakfast. That brought a genuine smile to his face. Genuine coffee and real, honest food which wasn't canned tuna.

The doctor came around at 9am. Pleased that Peter hadn't vomited, and his aversion to light appeared to have reduced, he was discharged on the proviso he stayed on base for 48 hours encase they missed something. Hydrate, plenty of fluids and two good night's sleep. He could deal with that. He really didn't want to be dealing with a concussion out in the field.

He was packing up his rucksack, brushing his teeth when Rob came in.

"Wow you're up out of bed."

"Gotta be here for two days, but Doc said I can leave his prison. Can I go see the girl now?"

Rob held the door open.

"You didn't tell me how you twigged it was Sherazi's daughter Quinn?" Rob asked.

"Easy, she was speaking Farsi and talking about a dad on base. Only one Iranian man on base. Only one with a kid daughter who was supposed to be safe at boarding school. Is she awake yet?"

Rob laughed.

"I forget you have hearing like a werewolf Bro."

He walked down the length of the huge hospital building, turning left then right countless times in the corridor, before arriving at a series of smaller rooms. Rob knocked on the door and went in. Peter followed.

Sherazi was lost in his own world looking at his daughter, so much so he didn't even hear the men come in.

"As Salaam Alaikum Saqid" Peter said quietly.

Sherazi sprung up, seeing his daughters saviour and embraced him with tears in his eyes.

"Wa Alaikum Salaam ibn, Wa Alaikum Salaam always my son," he said.

Rob saw a smile ghost Peters face at being called son by this man he so clearly loved and admired.

"She's ok."

"Praise be to Allah for finding us a guardian angel against the work of Iblis, she is ok. I hope she will talk to you. She said she has to speak to the American angel, and that is all."

Peter was embarrassed at this.

"I'd have saved any kid I could have done Sadiq, you know that. Anyone would do."

Sadiq Sherazi sat down, and gestured to Peter & Rob to sit down.

"Actually, my son. I am not too sure that is the way of the world, although it be Allah's way. There are not many who step fiercely into the void, at such great personal risk. You are a good man, my son. Never doubt that."

Peter remained standing, awkward. No matter how many times he saved little children all around the world, Rob knew that killing weighed heavily upon him.

Sherazi reached forward and grabbed the man's hand, looking him in the eye so intently, Peter felt as if he was being split apart.

"In righteousness and in piety you have helped me, Peter. My daughter lives today because of your actions. It is commanded that for those who save a life, it shall be as if they have saved the whole world. You saved my whole world at least Peter. She is my world, there would be no place on this earth for me without her, without my wife. But suicide is forbidden. I am not sure what I would have done. Things will be hard for her, for me. But we have hope. For a better Iran, for a better Iraq and that she might know prosperity in the land of her father's once more. All of this because of you. I am forever in your debt, Peter Quinn. Forever you shall be family to me, and I shall call you my child wherever in the world you are. I shall pray for you always, that you might be safe and find your way home."

Peter looked away, a tear rolling down his face. He had a deep respect for Sadiq Sherazi. His praise however, made him deeply uncomfortable.

"I didn't do it to be in your debt. I did it because she didn't deserve to die like that."

Sadiq got up, and gathered the young man into his embrace. Rob looked away, feeling like he was intruding, but knowing he would be intruding more if he made the noise involved in leaving.

"Has she… has she said anything?" Peter asked.

"No. She won't say anything but to her American Angel, she said."

"When will the sedative wear off?"

"Soon, they said. Wherever they took her, she lost some weight. I got in touch with the school. I'm not sure how we ever knew but it was over-run three weeks ago. No other children missing, praise be to Allah."

The little girl stirred.

" _Your friend is here little Fara_ ," her dad said in Farsi, gathering her tiny hand into his giant sized paws. " _Your American angel is here_."

Small brown eyes blinked as they came into focus.

" _Hey sleepy"._

Small brown eyes stared at the man face.

" _Whats your name?"_ She asked quietly, in Farsi, trying to wiggle her hands out of her dads and sit up.

"Peter," he said, a small smile ghosting over his head. Finally, finally, he had had the chance to do some good. Something to balance against the blackness of the souls which felt like lead in his chest and his head.

" _Like the imam of Jesus_?" She asked softly.

Peter smiled back.

" _Something like that_." He said back.

" _You saved my life._ " She said quietly.

" _You saved yourself. You were good, you did exactly what you were told_."

" _Allah will bless you now."_ She said back quietly.

Peter didn't really know what to say at that. What sort of god let little children become involved in this war. What sort of god forced a little girl to become a suicide bomber? What sort of god?

" _I've heard you've been a bit scared of the doctors here_?" Peter asked gently.

" _They're American, like him." She responded._

Peter was confused. He looked at Rob who shrugged. Sadiq remained quiet. He'd been trying to get this out of his little girl for days. Find out why she screamed the place down in fear when the American Doctors came in.

" _But I'm American too, little one_?" He responded.

" _But you don't speak like him. You don't dress like him. You don't look like him_."

" _Like who Fara?"_

Tears were rolling down this little girls face, her hands shaking with fear.

" _He said he was from Pakistan, and he went to America to learn how to jump from planes so he could make Jihad in Afghanistan and kill the Kufar. I told him he was Iblis, and that Islam is peace and forgiveness…."_ She was stuttering, crying now. _"That's when he hit me, that's when he hurt me. That's when... "._ The little girl dissolved into sobs, crawling into her fathers arms. 

Peter's blood ran cold. He looked at Rob, whose face was suddenly stone.

He knew who that was. Target number four on the list. Haqqani.

What the hell was he doing in Iraq.


End file.
